Mens Rea
by piecesofflair
Summary: When the body of the guidance counselor is found at a prestigious private school, Goren and Eames find themselves up against a very unexpected adversary.
1. Grudge

A/N: I'm taking a break from the personal side of CI and doing a professional casefile story. This is partly inspired by the mothership episode "Shangri-la", Nicole Wallace, and my own fantasies of guest starring on CI. (Please, Bobby, interrogate me!)

And Ms. Siferd was actually my much-hated freshman English teacher this past year and Mr. Clark actually teaches psychology at my high school. Oh, and somebody in my class actually made the Shakespeare comment that Eames does.

And, as always, all of the characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBC, so please don't sue. (Except Mercutio. He belongs to the Bard.)

* * *

Bobby stared at the cup of coffee sitting on his desk, watching the steam curling upward before disappearing into the air. He was lost in thought, contemplating the file that rested next to his mug. He was stuck at the stage in the case between initial investigation and the moment the who, what, where, and why finally dawned on him. It would come to him eventually, it always did. Together with Eames, he was unstoppable. 

Alex watched him from her desk opposite his. She didn't say anything; she figured out a long time ago that it was better not to ask. She usually didn't want to know.

Their current case was turning out to be quite a puzzle. The body of the guidance counselor had been found in the stairwell of the Oakton Preparatory Academy for Girls, an esteemed private high school. The corpse had given the French teacher that found it quite a shock. At last count, Caroline Mercutio's body had 46 stab wounds, most of them superfluous. Whoever had killed her wanted it to hurt.

They were reaching a dead end. TOD was 6-8 P.M., so there were no witnesses. There were virtually no forensics, no apparent motives, and no suspects. They had nothing. Zero. Their only hope was that the lab would be able to salvage something from the school's security tapes, and even that front didn't look too promising.

The Captain approached the pair, both still wrapped up in their own thoughts. "What've you got on the Mercutio case?" he asked, jolting them out of their respective reveries.

"Nothing yet," Eames replied as she reached for the file. "This killer was very careful. He killed her in a public area, so prints are useless. There's no blood other than the vic's, no DNA, no fibers, and no murder weapon. We're headed to the school first thing tomorrow to talk to staff and students." She paused and studied the picture of Caroline that was paper-clipped to the folder. "Why would someone want to kill a counselor? She spent all day helping these kids, why would someone have a beef with her?" She tossed the manila file back on the desk and sighed in frustration.

"Goren, you're being awfully quiet," Deakins remarked, turning his attention to her partner. "You got any bright ideas about why someone would want to kill this woman?"

Bobby leaned back in his chair. A mixture of insight and confusion flickered in his eyes. "Whoever this was, they had something personal against Mercutio," he said. "Something that made them want to inflict that much pain before they finally killed her."

"But Mercutio was my favorite character!" Eames said in a fake whine.

The two men gave her puzzled looks. "You guys didn't have to read _Romeo and Juliet_ in high school?" she asked, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "English class, freshman year. Ms. Siferd. We all hated that woman." A nostalgic look crossed her face. "I told her that Shakespeare was a perv to have a 13-year-old get married. She gave me detention."

Bobby chuckled and rolled his eyes. He liked to imagine her as a spunky little teenage smartass. It somehow fit into her persona to be the girl that talked back to the teacher. It was all part of the Gordian knot that was Alex Eames.

The sudden jingle of his desk phone interrupted his thoughts. He reached for the receiver and picked it up on the second ring. "Goren," he said into it, suddenly becoming all business. "Mmhm…mmhm…yeah, we'll be right there." He hung up and looked over to his partner. "That was the lab. They're done with the autopsy." He grabbed his coat and started toward the elevator, Alex following closely behind.

* * *

"Caroline Mercutio, 37 years old, cause of death was the 46 knife wounds to her chest, back, and arms," Rodgers read off. "This woman didn't go down easy. I found traces of sodium hypochlorite under her nails." 

"Bleach…" Goren muttered, now doing his own examination of the hands.

"Right. Given Ms. Mercutio's occupation, I'd say your killer swabbed her to get rid of skin cells." She reached for the body's leg. "There's also some bruising on the front of the right ankle and the right hip," she said, pointing them out as she spoke. "Could be from a blow to either area."

"The killer…grabbed her by the hip…no…" He got an inquisitive look on his face. He pulled Eames over in front of himself to re-enact the murder. "That would have left a different shape of bruise. He…" Goren backed up a foot and paused. After a moment, understanding flashed through his eyes and he smiled. "He tripped her from behind," he said, sliding his right foot in front of Eames' ankle and tugging slightly. She stumbled forward a bit and threw out her hands for balance. Regaining her composure and turning around, she gave her partner a reproachful look. "Why do I always have to be the guinea pig?" she asked, patting her hair back into place. She turned back to the body. "But then what's the hip bruising from?" she asked.

Bobby looked thoughtful again. "Once she was down…" He trailed off and stared at the victim. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. "He kicked her in the side. Hard. Repeatedly."

Eames shook her head at the thought. "I guess somebody hated Shakespeare even more than I did."

* * *

The glass doors glinted sharply as Alex walked into the squad room the next morning. She drained the last dregs of coffee from the foam cup in her hand and tossed it in the garbage as she passed. Dropping into her seat, she glanced at the stack of papers that was already forming in her "In" basket. Great. More paperwork. 

"We should get going if we're interviewing at Oakton today," he said, not looking up from the reports he was reviewing.

"Good morning to you, too," she replied sarcastically.

He lifted his head to smile at her. "Sorry. Good morning, Eames."

She smiled back. "That's better."

* * *

"Ms. Halston? I'm Det. Eames. This is my partner, Det. Goren. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Caroline Mercutio." 

The visibly shaken principal nodded to the pair. "Yes…you can…come into my…office…" she said distractedly. She motioned the detectives to a door leading to a small room that adjoined the school's main office. "Right…right this way…"

"Ms. Halston," Eames began as she sat in one of the plush chairs that was offered, "was Caroline having any problems here at the school?"

"Caroline? Oh, heavens, no. Everyone loved her." Tears started to fill her eyes as she spoke. "She was the moderator for our academic honors society and the Future Authors Club. She'd been with us for 12 years. I don't know how we'll ever replace her…"

There was a short pause. "You were friends outside of work," Bobby said from his position by the left wall. He picked up a framed 5-by-7 photo from the shelf that hung there. "This is the two of you at one of the Central Park concerts, isn't it?" he asked, holding out the picture to Eames.

"Yes. That's us with some of the other teachers from Oakton," she said. "Sometimes we would get together and go out…to cultural things like that."

"Did she have any personal problems that she might have told you about? Family things, a jealous ex, something like that?" Alex questioned, softer this time.

"No…she never really talked about her personal life with me. She was a quiet girl, kept mostly to herself," the principal replied. "She was such a wonderful person. I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt her…" A tear slid gently down her cheek as she spoke.

"We're so sorry for your loss, Ms. Halston," Eames said gently. Handing her a card, she said, "If you need to contact us, my number's on here."

The detectives quietly shut the door behind them as they left her office. Bobby approached one of the secretaries. "Excuse me," he said, "can we have a list of the students in the academic honors society and the Future Authors club?"

The secretary looked up from the papers she was filing. "You're the detectives investigating Caroline's murder, aren't you?" she asked. At their nods, she typed something into her computer. "I'll get you whatever you want if it'll help find whoever did such a horrible thing. It's so terrible, what happened. She was such a sweet woman." Handing them the requested papers, she said, "The students' schedules are in there too, if you want to talk to them right away." She checked her watch. "Right now it's 2nd period."

As they entered the hallway outside the main office, Eames checked the names on the list. "First up is…Miranda Dever."

* * *

An hour and 21 very intelligent teenagers later, they were almost done. "Last girl," Alex remarked. "Audrey van Acker, junior, 3-year member of FA." She chuckled when she saw what her class was. "You'll love this girl, Bobby. Right now she's in psychology, room 319." 

He smiled at the teasing in her voice. "Now you'll see how simple it really is to read people," he replied, nudging her playfully in the hip.

"Now, Cyril Burt was very prominent during his lifetime. He was a firm believer in eugenics, or hereditary psychology." The teacher paused as he wrote "eugenics" on the board in big letters. "Does anyone know what organization he helped found?"

No hands went up. The majority of the class seemed to be nearly asleep, eyes glazed and heads supported by palms.

"Anyone?" the teacher asked again, not noticing the two detectives that had just entered the classroom. "Anyone?"

"Mensa," Goren spoke up from the doorway. "He was made honorary president in 1960."

The teacher turned in surprise at the unexpected voice. Seeing their badges, he smiled. "Ah, very good, detective!" he remarked, walking over to shake their hands. "I'm Brian Clark. How do you happen to know so much about our good friend Cyril?"

"Oh, he's just a mine of worthless information," Eames said sarcastically. "And as interesting as Mr. Burt may be, we're here about Caroline Mercutio."

"Ah, yes. The other teachers said you'd be coming. You'll want to talk to Audrey." Turning to his class, he motioned to a petite brunette in the third row. "Audrey! These officers need to speak to you." He looked back to Eames. "And by the way, it's _Sir_ Cyril Burt."

She rolled her eyes to Bobby as they guided Audrey out of the classroom. "I just remembered why I hated some of my teachers," she said under her breath.

"Sorry about him," Audrey said once they were out of earshot of the classroom. "Mr. Clark is kind of…obnoxious sometimes. He has this holier-than-thou attitude."

"Reminds me of my own high school days," Alex said with a smile. "But we need to talk to you about Ms. Mercutio."

Bobby pulled a pen out of the briefcase he always carried. "How friendly were you and Ms. Mercutio?"

"She was friends with everybody in FA and the honors society," Audrey said. "I'm in both, so she really liked me. She always told us to call her Caroline instead of Ms. Mercutio." A sad smile crossed her face. "When my grandma died freshman year, she gave me her phone number so I could call if I ever needed to talk to someone. She wasreally nice like that." She wiped away a tear that had formed in her eye. "She would always ask me how my work was coming. I'm in the art club, too. Sometimes she would stop by our meetings to see our projects."

Eames put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do you know if there were any students who didn't get along with her so well?"

Audrey sniffed back a few more tears. "No…not that I ever saw…everybody I know loved her. She took her job really seriously. She was always trying to help out."

Bobby handed her a tissue from a pack in his case. "Thank you, Audrey. We know how hard this must be for you." She wiped her eyes. "You can go back to class now."

Once she was gone, Goren and Eames exchanged looks. "That's everybody," she said with a sigh. "Let's g-"

An computerized version of Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons" interrupted her sentence. Eames pulled her cell out, checked the caller I.D., and answered with a stiff "Eames."

"Yeah…uh-huh…no…alright." Snapping it shut, she turned back to Bobby with an optimistic smile. "That was the lab. They've got something on the tapes."

* * *

P.S. Sir Cyril Burt was a real psychologist in the mid-1900s. He was the first person to have the idea of an organization for people with high IQs. Since his death, a lot of his work has been discredited as forged. 


	2. Venom

A/N: Okay, so here's chapter 2. I liked writing for a bad guy for a change instead of just BA shippiness (as fun as that is to write). I have no idea if my Bobby-psycho-analysis makes sense, I tried to make it sound like everything that he and Huang and Skoda and Olivet say.

And I couldn't for the life of me think of the names of any CSU techs, so I just used Morales, the TARU guy from SVU.

* * *

"So what've you got for us?" Eames asked the CSU tech.

"Feast your eyes on the wonders of technology," Morales replied, something like pride in his voice. "I cued up the tape to the time of your murder. It's not very good quality surveillance, but a school like that probably doesn't think they need it." He messed with a few of the controls on the machinery and the tape started to roll at quadruple speed. "Tell me if you see anything interesting."

At first there was just the usual school traffic – students leaving extra-curriculars, teachers heading home with papers in hand, the principal holding her briefcase…

"Wait, pause it," Goren said suddenly. The clock now read 7:24. "There's Mercutio. Roll it at normal speed."

They watched as their victim walked toward the doors, holding the briefcase that had been found with her body. She was alone and seemed fine emotionally. Now she was even with the stairs that she was found in, just a dozen or so yards from the exit.

As the tape rolled, someone stepped out of the partially obscured stairwell. Her face was hidden, but her clothes were obvious: the blue plaid skirt and white polo uniform of Oakton Prep. The girl said something to Mercutio to make her turn around. She smiled as the girl jogged to catch up to her. "Someone she knew…" Eames mused under her breath.

The three of them watched as the girl chatted with Mercutio. For a moment nothing happened. The mood quickly changed when the counselor's face abruptly clouded over. She stopped looking friendly; now she looked flat out angry. She turned sharply on her heel and walked away, throwing up her free hand in a gesture of annoyance.

They watched in astonishment as the still-unknown student raced up behind her and tripped her, just as Bobby had predicted. Mercutio fell face down, her briefcase skidding to a halt a few feet away. The girl stepped up beside her, positioning herself over the counselor that was now trying to get up. She reached out to grab the girl's leg, but only managed to scratch her shin. Without hesitating, the girl kicked her violently in the side, once, twice, three times. She feebly struggled to get up, but the girl pulled something out of her skirt pocket.

"Um, can you skip through this part?" Eames asked, turning away.

When she looked back again, it was over. The girl was standing over the body, just looking at what she'd done. "Come on, look up, look up…" Bobby muttered to their murderer.

And as if she had heard him, she did. Her hair swung as she checked the hall for any bystanders. Morales paused the tape when she looked their way.

The detectives were shocked at what they saw. Eames let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Audrey van Acker," she said in a near-whisper. Silence fell for a few seconds as the three of them stared at the image before them. Even in low-quality black and white, it was unmistakably her.

"Can you zoom in on what she's holding and clean it up?" Goren asked.

As the new image materialized, Bobby squinted carefully at it. "It looks like a molding knife…" he said, trailing off. "It's a common tool used in sculpture and pottery."

Eames raised her eyebrows. "Sounds like what they'd use in the art club."

* * *

"You have the murder on tape?" Carver asked incredulously. "How'd we get that lucky?"

The two detectives and the ADA were meeting with Deakins in his office. "Miss van Acker was careful enough to swab under her victim's nails, but she was also careless enough to kill her in plain view of the school's security cameras," Eames replied, handing him a still from the tape. The look of pure venom on Audrey's face sent chills down her spine.

"What exactly does the tape show?" Carver asked as he studied the photo.

"Everything, from the argument that started it to Audrey running to the maintenance closet to get the bleach," Eames answered. "She tripped her, then stabbed her, then cleaned up and ran."

Carver sighed. "It would be nice if we had motive," he said as he set the picture on the desk. "The jury will want to know what would motivate a 16-year-old to do something like this."

Eames exhaled heavily. "We've got the argument," she said. "I just wish we knew what it was about."

Goren got his trademark haha-I-know-exactly-how-to-crack-them face. "Well, why don't we ask her?"

* * *

Audrey van Acker leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms behind her. "How much longer do I have to be here? I have a report on the Battle of Gallipoli to finish," she said impatiently, looking around the interrogation room. "I have 2 more pages to write on the evacuation in 1917."

A small smirk appeared on Bobby's face. "1916," he corrected without looking up from his notes.

Audrey sighed in annoyance. "No, it's 1917. And who cares anyway, I just wanna get this over with."

Bobby looked up at her and smiled. From her position near the door, Eames recognized the look. It was the one he used for putting suspects at ease before he started to mess with their head. She'd always enjoyed that particular smile.

"We need to clear up a few things about Ms. Mercutio's death," he responded calmly. "There're a few…anomalies we'd like to ask you about." He set his briefcase on the cold metal table.

Audrey rolled her eyes. "So you bring _me_ in here? I already told you everything I know."

Alex took a few steps toward the table. "You see, Audrey, we don't think you have." She pulled out one of the remaining chairs and sat down. "We have footage from your school's security cameras that says you know a lot more than you're telling."

Audrey smirked. "See, now I know that's a lie. Oakton doesn't _have_ security cameras." She shook her head. "A school like ours doesn't need them."

Bobby and Alex exchanged glances. "They were put in a few months ago, at the beginning of the school year," Alex said. "We watched the tape from the evening of the murder, and guess who we saw stabbing her 46 times before running off?" She didn't try to hide the disgust in her voice.

"How should I know?" Audrey replied. "I already told you, I don't know anything about what happened."

"Really?" Alex said. She pulled the camera still out of the file she was holding. "Then how do you explain this?" she asked as she slid it across the table.

Audrey picked up the picture from where Eames had set it. At first, she just looked at it, fingering the corner. After a few moments of silence, Alex spoke. "Miss van Acker, we have to tell you that you have the right to remain silent. You also have the right to an attorney. Do you want one before we go on?"

Audrey just shook her head no, still staring at the picture. Suddenly, she looked up at them. To the surprise of both, she smiled.

"Very good, detectives," she said, her voice simultaneously evil and cheery. "New York's finest cracked the case, and all it took was a video of the crime." She tossed the photo contemptuously back onto the table. "You people are pathetic."

Bobby studied her as she spoke. She was different from other criminals. She'd just had irrefutable evidence shoved in her face, but she had no reaction at all. There was no fear in her eyes, no tremble in her voice, no denials, no excuses. Just cold, unaffected stoicism. It would make her much more difficult to manipulate.

Alex's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "What was the argument about?"

Audrey casually fiddled with her nails as she spoke. "My writing," she said nonchalantly. "I gave her some of my poetry at last week's meeting. I wanted her to put it in Oakton's literary newspaper, but she told me it wasn't good enough." She looked up at Bobby, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "And _nobody_ tells me I'm not good enough." She laughed softly to herself. Eames gave an involuntary shiver at the hatred in her voice.

A sharp knock on the window told them to head back into observation. Deakins and Carver were waiting behind the one-way glass, needing to discuss this unusual turn of events.

"This girl gives me the creeps," Alex told as she came through the door. "No remorse, no attempts to explain it away…" She turned to Bobby, who had just entered behind her. "She's what I imagine Nicole was like 15 years ago."

Bobby was staring at Audrey through the glass and stroking his chin in thought. "She has…no self-esteem," he explained. "She can't handle being wrong. To her, it's a weakness. She thinks that if she appears anything less than perfect, all the flaws that are so obvious to her will be obvious to everyone else. That's why she wouldn't admit Gallipoli was in 1916 instead of '17. Any imperfections are proof of her own worthlessness." A contemplative look crossed his face. "Her worst fear was realized when Mercutio said she wasn't good enough. She's terrified that if she's wrong, people will see her…" He nodded at her and sighed. "They'll see her as she sees herself."

Silence fell in the small room. For a few moments, the four of them just stared at the puzzle that sat on the other side of the glass. Then, snapping out of his reverie, Deakins spoke up. "You two better get back in there and see what she has to say for herself."

* * *

"Audrey," Eames began as she re-entered the interrogation room, "we need to know exactly what happened."

Audrey messed with her nails again. "I already told you," she said with annoyance. "She insulted me. I stabbed her a lot. I got some bleach out of the janitor's closet to get rid of DNA. Then I ran." She said it all as flippantly as if she were telling her parents what happened at school that day. It was eerie how little this girl cared about what she'd done and what would happen to her.

Bobby looked at her intently, as if to size her up. "You know what I don't get?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes at him. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

He smiled slightly. "Well, you don't care about what you did, right? Don't regret it or anything?"

"No. She insulted me. I wasn't about to let her walk away."

He continued to assess her. "I'd like to know how you fooled everyone," he said. "How no one ever saw past your…good-girl façade."

She leaned back farther in her chair. "Why?" she asked, repeating his question. "Because I'm _very_ good at what I do, detective."

"Really? And what is that?"

She leaned forward, her elbows sliding along the cold metal surface of the table. The look of pure venom in her eyes from the tape was back, pulsating from her deep blue to his brown. "I make people believe what they want to," she said slowly, pausing between each word. She continued to gaze directly at Bobby, never breaking eye contact, almost as if she was challenging him. "They all look at me, but all anyone sees is a model child. The honors student with the 4.2 who volunteers and was elected student council vice-president." A sickly-sweet fake smile appeared on her face. "I'm an adult's dream. So no one reallycares what else I am." She gave a short laugh. "You should know, detectives, that people are always shutting their eyes so they can pretend nothing's there. Of course, I've never given them anything to see." She batted her eyelashes in a parody of innocence before smirking and going calmlyback to her nails.

Eames sighed as she stood up. "In that case, Audrey van Acker, you're under arrest for the murder of Caroline Mercutio. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…"

As she recited Miranda, she pulled out her handcuffs and started to fasten them around Audrey's wrists. As she led her out of the room, she noticed something.

Audrey was laughing.


	3. Disorder

A/N: Sorry it took so long to finish this chapter. I never realized how hard it was to write the legal part of the L&O franchise, especially since I have no legal experience. Luckily, I've watched enough mothership episodes to (hopefully) make it sound at least partly believable.

* * *

"Docket ending 3709, People v. Audrey van Acker, one count murder in the second degree," the bailiff read off. 

A young blonde woman stepped up as he spoke. "Deirdre Sullivan for the defense, Your Honor."

"How does your client plead, Ms. Sullivan?" the judge asked.

Deirdre nudged Audrey and motioned for her to speak. "Not guilty."

"People on bail?"

Carver eyed Audrey carefully. "People seek remand, Your Honor. The defendant brutally stabbed a teacher almost 50 times."

"She's a minor, Your Honor," Sullivan intoned. "We request that she be released into the custody of her parents."

"Let's meet her halfway, shall we, Mr. Carver? Bail is set at $100,000, cash or bond." He banged his gavel. "Next."

* * *

"So, Ron," Sullivan said as she and Audrey entered his office, "let's talk turkey. We're open to a deal." 

Carver looked up from the reports he was reviewing. "Why should I offer anything when I have a videotape of your client committing the murder?"

Sullivan set her briefcase down beside her as she sat in one of his chairs. "No mercy, Ron?" she said. "My client isn't some 300-pound thug hitman for the mob. She's just a teenage girl who took her anger too far."

Carver raised his eyebrows. "That, Deirdre, is an enormous understatement." He leaned back in his chair. "Man 1, 12½ to 25."

"Man 2, 3 to 6," she countered.

He shook his head. "There was nothing reckless about it, Deirdre. Man 1 is my final offer."

"Well, in that case…" She pulled out an all-too-familiar piece of blue paper. "Notice of our intent to present an affirmative defense."

Carver scanned the motion, his eyebrows furrowing as he read. "Not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect?" He looked at Audrey, who hadn't said a word during the entire meeting. "Precisely what illness are you claiming she has?" he asked with confusion.

Deirdre stood up and motioned for Audrey to follow. "Antisocial personality disorder. She's a psychopath, Ron." The two of them walked toward the door. Pausing before they exited, Deirdre turned. "There's not a jury in the world that'll convict a poor, sick little girl." With a smirk, she guided Audrey out of the office.

* * *

"Insanity, eh?" Arthur said, watching Carver pace around the office. "You buy it?" 

Carver sat down in one of the chairs across from Branch's desk. "I'm not sure," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"You mean she's sick, but you don't know if it exculpates her," Arthur said, his Southern drawl drawing out his words. "You think a jury'll go for it?"

"Maybe." Carver let out a long sigh of frustration. "I've gone up against Deirdre Sullivan before, Arthur. She's a brilliant attorney. She could convince a jury that Aileen Wuornos was a battered wife."

Arthur chuckled. "You just get in there and show them that she's not crazy, just evil." He gave him a sympathetic smile. "Then you can come back here and help yourself to some scotch."

* * *

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" The bailiff solemnly recited the oath as Alex raised her right hand. 

"I do."

"Be seated."

Eames took her seat on the witness stand. Standing up from the prosecution table, Carver approached.

"Detective Eames," he began, "you and your partner, Detective Goren, investigated the murder of Caroline Mercutio, correct?"

"Yes." She shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. Alex didn't like going to court, especially not since The Letter Incident.

"At any point during your investigation, did you interview the defendant?"

"Yes, twice. Once at the school and once at the station."

"What evidence did you find during your investigation?"

"We recovered a tape from the school's security cameras from the evening of the murder."

Carver turned to Judge Bradley. "Your Honor, at this time the People would like to show what is marked as People's 3, the Oakton security tape."

The judge nodded as the bailiff wheeled a TV in front of the jury. Carver watched the jurors' faces react with horror at what they saw. A few looked away when Audrey pulled out the knife. They all looked relieved when it ended and the lights went up again.

Turning back to Eames, Carver resumed his questioning. "Detective, after viewing this tape, what did you do?"

"We brought Miss van Acker into the station for interrogation."

"And what happened when you showed her the tape?"

Alex shifted again. "She confessed," she answered. "She told us that Ms. Mercutio insulted her, so she killed her."

"At any point during your time with the defendant, did she seem mentally ill?"

Sullivan stood up with a start. "Objection! Your Honor, this witness is not qualified to answer that."

"I'll rephrase. Detective, was the defendant…incoherent or...unstable when you spoke with her?"

"No, not at all. She was very intelligent and articulate."

Carver gave a small smile and nodded. "Thank you, Detective. Nothing further."

Sullivan took a last look at her notes before rising from the defense table. "Detective Eames, how did my client react when you showed her the tape?" she asked.

"She didn't seem to care at all. She just smiled and called us pathetic."

"She didn't get scared or try to deny it, nothing like that?"

Eames shook her head. "No, she just laughed and said that Ms. Mercutio deserved it."

Sullivan paced for a moment before she continued. "Detective, are you a doctor?"

Alex shook her head. "No."

"Do you have any psychiatric training?"

"No."

"So you really wouldn't know if my client had a mental illness, would you?"

Alex shrugged. "I guess not."

"Thank you, detective," Sullivan said with a smile. "No more questions."

"Mr. Carver, call your next witness," Judge Bradley instructed.

Carver stood up. "The People rest, your honor."

Judge Bradley checked his watch. "Let's call it a day, then, shall we, counselors? We're in recess until tomorrow morning." He banged his gavel, signaling the dispersion of the courtroom. Alex stepped off the witness stand to join a waiting Bobbyat the doors.

As Carver gathered his things, Sullivan stepped up next to him. "Ron," she said as he packed up his briefcase, "cut the girl some slack. Give her five years in a psychiatric hospital."

He straightened up and gave her a pondering look. He paused for a moment and looked over her shoulder at Audrey, who hadn't moved from her seat. She looked up and saw him watching her, giving him another one of her evil-looking smiles.

Turning back to Sullivan, he picked up the last of his papers. "No deal."


	4. Judgement

A/N: This chapter's been finished since Wednesday but there was some error with uploading the document that kept coming up so I couldn't post it. Stupid computers...

Anyway, here's _le chapitre final_. Enjoy! (And R&R)

* * *

He fidgeted in the hard wooden chair, trying to recall why he'd agreed to testify today. He wasn't this girl's doctor; he'd never even met her before. It only took a moment to remember the reason: the down payment he'd been able to make on the 30-footer of his dreams, courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Charles van Acker. _Just think of the boat, Sam…_

He abruptly called himself back to reality when he realized that the tall defense attorney that hired him was standing up. What was her name again?…

"Please state your name and occupation for the record."

"Dr. Samuel Morgenthal, head of behavioral research and studies at New York University."

She smiled at him. _Pretty young thing_, he thought briefly before remembering that (a) he was in court, (b) he was married with two kids, and (c) she was young enough to be his daughter.

"Dr. Morgenthal, what are your qualifications?"

"I hold a PhD in clinical psychology and an MD in psychiatric medicine." He couldn't quite hold back a haughty.

Deirdre, that was her name, he remembered suddenly. Deirdre Sullivan. She was walking towards the jury now. "What kinds of illnesses do you research in your job, doctor?"

"Behavioral and personality disorders."

"Such as?"

He ticked off on his fingers as he named them. "Paranoid psychosis, schizotypal disorder, obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, histrionic disorder…"

"Anti-social personality disorder?" Sullivan supplied.

He nodded. "Yes, that too."

She had turned her attention back to him. "Dr. Morgenthal, what are some of the characteristics of the disorder?"

"ASPD patients often exhibit risky behaviors, substance abuse, rage, anxiety, and lack of emotional responses such as fear and empathy."

Sullivan gave a smile and nod of satisfaction. "Thank you, doctor," she said as she turned back to the gallery. "Nothing further."

Carver stood up from his place at the prosecutor's table. Approaching the witness stand, he eyed the doctor. "Doctor," he began, "have you ever interviewed the defendant?"

Morgenthal smirked, unfazed by the expected question. "No, I can only offer the academic diagnosis."

"So you don't know for a fact that she even suffers from ASPD?"

"No."

"Dr. Morgenthal, can people with the disorder function normally and distinguish between right and wrong?"

"Yes, for the most part."

"Is ASPD considered treatable?"

"No."

Carver gave his own nod of satisfaction. "Thank you, doctor."

* * *

It was the end of another long day in court and Carver was relaxing on Branch's couch, gripping his coat in one hand and the promised scotch in the other. Reclining next to him was Jack McCoy, with his own scotch and a matching expression of exhaustion. 

"I'm worried, Arthur," Ron said with a sigh. "I think Deirdre may have pushed the pity button enough to get at least a few jurors on her side."

Arthur chuckled. "Thankfully for you, a few sappy jurors does not a verdict make."

"Arthur, did you…" a voice began from the doorway before trailing off. "Sorry, didn't know the old boys club was having a meeting," Borgia said sarcastically through the open door.

Jack smiled at his assistant. "Don't worry, Alex, we're just commiserating about the pains of the legal system."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. Never mind, it can wait until tomorrow. 'Night, Jack, Arthur, Ron," she replied, nodding to each as she said their names. She stepped back out into the hallway and shut the door softly behind her.

In the office, Ron took another drink from his highball glass. "Anyway, I think some of them buy it, but the rest still seem a bit skeptical." He swirled the remains of the whiskey, watching the patterns of light it cast on the coffee table in front of him. "I wish Deirdre would put her on the stand. It would make showing Audrey as a cold, heartless excuse for a person much easier. But she's not dumb enough to do that." He set the glass down on the polished wood. "Closings are tomorrow. I think I can convince them that she's sane."

* * *

Deirdre mentally gathered her oratorical skills before she rose from her seat. She slowly approached the jury box, taking time to look at each member's face. "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, "my client killed a woman." She looked soberly at the twelve of them. "No one disputes that. She got angry and she released that anger onto Caroline Mercutio. What she did was brutal and vicious and wrong. I know it, you know it, Mr. Carver knows it, Judge Bradley knows it. But all of that is irrelevant. Because all that matters today, the only thing you have to decide…is whether my client knew that." She paused and motioned back at Audrey. "When you go back into that room to deliberate, there's only one question that you have to ask yourselves: did Audrey van Acker know it was wrong?" She looked dramatically at them to let her words take effect. After a moment, she receded back to the defense table. 

Carver took a deep breath and stood up. "Ms. Sullivan is right," he said as he approached the jury. "No one is challenging the facts. Everyone here knows what the defendant did and nobody is going to say otherwise." He stopped pacing and put both hands on the polished wooden rail in front of the box. "Now, the defense would like you to believe that Audrey didn't know what she was doing when she took out that knife, that she didn't realize what she was doing was wrong, that she was insane when she stabbed her counselor almost 50 times." He gave the jurors a trusting look. "I hope that during your deliberations, you'll see their argument for what it really is: a feeble attempt to let a killer go free."

Seven hours later, Carver and his second chair sat on a bench outside the courtroom. He had just begun to think that deliberations would continue to the next day when the clerk came out to announce the jury's return.

Back inside, he watched the seven men and five women file back to their seats. The forewoman handed a folded piece of paper to the bailiff who in turn handed it off to Judge Bradley. After glancing at it briefly, he spoke. "Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

"On the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant, Audrey van Acker, guilty."

Carver let out the breath he'd been holding. He turned to smile at Mercutio's parents sitting behind him, silently congratulating himself as he turned. He looked over at Audrey, who was being cuffed by a court officer. As the burly uniform led her out of the courtroom, he noticed something. Throughout the entire trial, she'd remained silent, just sitting at the defense table and watching. She'd showed no emotion after the verdict, not even when her crying parents reached over to hug her. Now, as she was being guided out the doors, she was finally reacting. She was chuckling softly to herself. She looked back and saw him watching her, flashing another wicked grin in response.

* * *

"20 to life," Ron told the detectives back at the precinct. "Should've been 25, but the judge took pity on her because of her age." He checked his watch. "I've got to go. Goodnight, detectives." 

Alex set her steaming cup of coffee on her desk and reclined in her chair. "20 years," she sighed. "Maybe they'll let her get a G.E.D.while she's in Bedford."

Bobby let out a matching sigh. "In youth and beauty, wisdom is but rare." He smiled at Alex's raised eyebrows. "Homer's _Odyssey_."

They lapsed into silence,just watching the steam from the coffee as it spiraled slowly into the air.

* * *

A/N: Hehehe...Jack and Alex have cameos! 


End file.
